His Territory
by T.S. Quint
Summary: What do two stranded film students, three camping teenagers, and a middle-aged Tommy Jarvis all have in common? They've all wandered into the wrong territory. HIS territory...
1. His Territory I

"**His Territory"**

_Fall, 2010..._

"And it was here, in the fall of 2003, at what was once known as Camp Crystal Lake, that the last victims were found." Cindy Valentine said, a dark, stern expression on her face. "Forest Green, the name Crystal Lake has since adopted in an attempt to distance itself from its own dark past, is infamous for its bizarre string of gruesome serial murders, dating all the way back to 1957. But what was it that connected these murders in particular to those concurrently taking place in Springwood within the same twenty four hour period? Some would say coincidence... until one pointed out that two of the victims found here at the campsite were, themselves, from Springwood."

Cindy stood below the wooden archway entrance to the camp, which still read "Welcome to Camp Crystal Lake!" A smaller, temporary sign just to the left of the dirt road that lead through the archway, read : "Coming, Summer 2011: Camp Forest Green!", though someone had crudely crossed out the words "Forest Green" in red spray paint, spraying the word "BLOOD" in big block letters directly above the "correction". Cindy was an extremely attractive, long-legged young woman. She had short, red hair that stopped just short of her collar, currently pushed back with a black headband. She was wearing a very professional looking (though very short) beige dress skirt, and matching jacket. .

Several yards in front of her, Kyle Stark stood, taking it all in with his digital camcorder, getting a quick shot of the "coming soon!" sign, before turning the camera to where it had been aimed previously: The hemline of Cindy's skirt, and the milky skin of her upper thighs. Kyle was a good looking young man, though his features were somewhat spoiled by the dopey grin currently plastered on his face. He was twenty years old, the same age as Cindy, with long shaggy blonde hair, most of it stuffed up under a red baseball cap. He wore a blue t-shirt and a pair of knee-length, cutoff blue jeans and a black pair of Chuck Taylor's on his feet.

To his left stood Lisa Clifton, a notepad in her right hand, her left hand on her hip. She too was the same age as Kyle and Cindy. Her long, jet black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore a tank top and a pair of khaki shorts. In her right hand she held a clipboard. Her left was on her hip. And an exasperated expression rested on her face. She exhaled loudly as she watched Cindy, oblivious to where Kyle was pointing the camera.

On Kyle's right, stood Mitch Monroe, the oldest of the four. He too wore a baseball cap, his a black "Yankees" cap. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses, and a shaggy, weekend's worth of not-quite-beard grew on his expressionless face. He wore a khaki vest, over a black t-shirt, and blue jeans. He wore a bulky pair of headphones on his ears, which were connected by a wire to a large, tape recorder strapped to his hip. The tape recorder itself, was, in turn, attached to the long boom mic, he held up, toward Cindy's general direction.

"Are these two sets of murders connected?" Cindy asked the camera, her eyes narrowing. Overhead, thunder rumbled softly through the overcast sky. The trees that surrounded them on all sides swayed gently in the growing, cool breeze. There was going to be a storm. "Were the Springwood murders perhaps perpetuated by yet another Jacob Voorhees copycat killer? Or-"

"Cut!" Lisa snapped loudly. Kyle and Mitch slowly lowered their equipment, exchanging glances.

Cindy's shoulders slumped. "What? What is it? What'd I do wrong now?"

Lisa marched up to Cindy and thrust the clipboard into the other girl's hands. She pointed at a name in the middle of the page. "What does that say?"

Cindy's eyes scanned the paper a moment, before closing. She sighed. "It says Jason Voorhees."

"Right!" Lisa crossed her arms, and fixed Cindy with a glare. "What did _you_ say."

"Jacob Voorhees."

"Right again!" Lisa nodded. "Now, last question: why in God's name can't you get this fucking take right?"

Kyle and Mitch glanced at each other again. Kyle rolled his eyes and Mitch shook his head. Here they went again.

Cindy ran a hand through her hair, pulling her headband out, "I don't know. I'm sorry, Lisa. I think it's this place, it... it gives me the creeps! I haven't felt right since we got here, and that old man..." she trailed off. "It's just really throwing me off, okay?"

"No!" Lisa snatched the clipboard back, out of her hands. "It's not okay! This Crystal Lake/Forest Green segment is supposed to be the shortest part of the Elm Street House documentary! It's so tangential! Barely connected at all! This was supposed to be a one day trip, a quick stop off at the police station to ask a few questions, and then a quick stop off here at the Camp to shoot a five minute scene! We got here at 3 o'clock this afternoon. Kyle!" she called over her shoulder to the camera man. "What time is it now?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, before looking at his watch. "Almost six thirty, Lis."

"Three and a half fucking hours!" Lisa turned back to Cindy. "Three and a half hours, and you can't get a goddamn five minute scene right! Aren't you a performance major? Are you learning _anything_ in your classes!"

"Hey." Mitch called out suddenly. "That's not fair. She got rattled, Lisa. That old guy rattled all of us."

"Yeah." Cindy nodded, remembering. "Including you, Lisa."

It had been extraordinarily creepy. There had been absolutely no one on the town's main street when they'd arrived in the otherwise pleasant looking Forest Green, despite it being the middle of a Sunday afternoon. Cindy had noticed only the shopkeeper at the general store across the street, sweeping the steps when they'd gotten out of the van at the police station. She'd also noticed how he stopped and stared at them as they went inside.

The police hadn't helped matters either. The officer at the front desk had turned immediately hostile when Lisa mentioned the name Jason Voorhees, and had told the kids they'd better mind their own business, and get out of town. And stay away from the campgrounds!

Lisa had gotten all offended (of course) and shouted something about refusing to be threatened away from her story. But the policeman's tone hadn't sounded threatening to Cindy. It had sounded more like a warning. Almost a pleading.

When they left the police station (they had been, in fact, thrown out after Lisa and the cop at the front desk had argued for more than twenty minutes) the old man who had been sweeping across the street had been standing by their van, peering in through the passenger side window. This had rubbed Lisa the wrong way.

"Excuse me," she marched over to where the old man stood, grabbing him by the shoulder, and roughly turning him to face her. "There something I can help you with, old timer?"

The old man hadn't looked shocked at all. He simply stared straight into Lisa's eyes.

"There's a darkness in your future," he rumbled, his voice deep, and wavery. "In all of your futures. Yours especially though. Give it up. Whatever it is you're up to, give it up."

Lisa blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"It's his territory!" The old man's voice rose. "His! It ain't got nuthin' to do with you, and it ain't nothin' but trouble when folks like you go pokin' around up there!"

"What's whose territory?" Kyle had asked from over Lisa's shoulder.

"Damn fool!" The old man had snapped. "The campgrounds! The campgrounds are _his_! Stay away from them if you know what's good for you."

A condescending tone crept into Lisa's voice. "Alright, buddy, just-"

"No!" the old man was becoming frantic. "It's bad enough the damn developers are trying to open that camp _again_! How many more times is it going to take? How many more kids are gonna have to die? The camp is cursed! It's the lake... there's a blackness seeping from it's depths. I've seen it! It hangs over the water like a bloated, black, thundercloud! It created him! It's corrupted the land... soured it!"

A dark smile crept over Lisa's face, and a devious glint that Cindy recognized as a sign of piqued interest twinkled in her eye. "This him you keep mentioning... you think it's Jason Voorhees, don't you?"

Without warning the old man had viciously slapped her across the face. Lisa stumbled backward, holding her cheek, her eyes wide with shock.

"Hey!" Kyle took a step forward, but Mitch caught him by the arm. The old man looked at them all now.

"We don't say his name. Not anymore. Not out loud" his voice had gone softer again. "Doomed. You're all doomed! If you go into his territory... he'll kill ya. All of ya!." his eyes locked on Cindy's. "Every last one..." he suddenly looked back at Lisa, and his eyes widened. "You... you spread your curse to others, like a plague! If you don't end your mad quest, it's going to end you and everyone around you!" he slowly backed away from her, before turning around and hobbling back across the street as quickly as he could. He quickly climbed the steps of the general store, barreled through the door, and slammed it behind him. A moment later, the "OPEN" sign on the door flipped to "CLOSED."

Kyle glanced to Lisa. "Lis... you okay?"

Lisa pulled her hand away from her face, checking it for blood. Her cheek had gone a bright red. "Old fucker hit me!"

"He... he said the camp was cursed." Cindy said in a small voice. The old man had frightened her badly. It was something about his eyes. "Maybe... maybe we should just go back to Springwood. You know, this Camp Forest Green segment isn't the most vital part of the-"

"We're going to the campgrounds." Lisa said sharply. She went around to the driver's side door, ripped it open, and climbed inside. Cindy knew it was useless to argue with her now. The old man had slapped her and told her not to go. Therefore, nothing on heaven or earth would stop Lisa Clifton from going to Camp Forest Green now.

And so they had gone. And so now here they were. Where they'd been for the past three hours. The cloud covered sky had grown very dark now. The sun must've been starting to go down. Cindy glanced around nervously. She really didn't want to still be here when night fell.

Lisa turned to Kyle. "Alright. Let me see the footage we've got. Maybe we'll have something salvageable."

Kyle's eyes widened. "Uh... nah, we should probably just do another take. The footage is pretty shitty."

Lisa nodded. "Well, you shot it, I'm sure it is. But it's getting late, and I'm tired of being here. So if we have something usable, we can leave. Now, let me see the fucking camera."

Kyle glanced over at Mitch, who sighed deeply, removing his sunglasses, and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Lisa looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Something you two wanna fill me in on?"

Mitch shook his head, replacing his shades. "Nope. Kyle, show her what you shot."

Kyle shot him a dirty look, before hesitantly handing the camera to Lisa. "Um... you have to understand... I didn't exactly think the take was working out, so, uh... I kinda let the lense, ya know... wander."

Lisa sighed, and put her eye up against the eye piece, pressing play. She watched for a few moments, before lowering the camera, wheeling on Kyle, and punching him in the chest, hard.

"Ow!" Kyle stumbled back.

Lisa advanced on him. "You fucking idiot!" she growled. "You stupid, disgusting, fucking idiot!"

"What?" Cindy asked. "What is it?"

"Kyle spent the last half of the take shooting closeups of your crotch." Mitch said simply. He had begun dismantling the boom mic equipment, and placing the pieces in their cases.

"What?" Cindy wheeled on Kyle now too, folding her hands defensively across her lower abdomen. "Kyle, gross!"

Kyle, meanwhile, had been backed up against the side of the van, which was parked just off the dirt road, a few yards away from the archway. "Lisa, take it easy! I mean, how important _is_ this scene to the whole of the documentary? The whole thing's about that house in Springwood, right? So, it doesn't really matter, right?"

Lisa didn't reply. She simply grabbed fistfuls of Kyle's shirt with both hands and began slamming him repeatedly into the side of the van. Cindy watched, wide-eyed. Mitch, meanwhile, had finally managed to pack up his equipment, hefting two of cases in which the dismantled pieces were packed, carrying them toward the van, and leaving the third larger case for the moment. He had almost reached the van's rear doors, when Lisa suddenly looked over at him, her hands still clenching Kyle's shirt. Slowly, Kyle's scrunched shut eyes opened, when he realized the beatings had, at least for the moment, ceased.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lisa said to Mitch.

"Packing up my shit." Mitch set down one of the cases, using his free hand to open the doors. "Kyle's right. This scene doesn't matter. It's not gonna make or break your documentary if we have a five second shot of Cindy standing under that archway."

Lisa let go of Kyle, fully turning to Mitch now. "I'm sorry. Did I _say_ we were finished filming here?"

Mitch sighed, as he tossed the second case in the back of the van. "Lisa, seriously, what does it fucking matter?"

"Did _I _say we were done."

"Lisa-"

"Did I?"

Mitch's jaw clenched. Though his sunglasses hid it, Cindy suspected his eyes had narrowed to slits. "No. You didn't."

"Alright." Lisa nodded. "We have that much established. Now, tell me... which of the two of us is directing this documentary? Which of us, in fact, _started_ this whole project? And which of the two of us is getting _graded_ on this project in two and a half weeks? This fucking project is worth fifty percent of my final grade in my film directing class, do you understand that? And we are already so far behind schedule."

"Don't forget that Berger said that this was your last chance to pass his class." Kyle chimed in. Lisa slowly turned her head to glare at him, and Kyle shrank back.

Mitch, meanwhile, shrugged. "That's not my fault, and it's not my problem. You're the one that already failed his class twice. Like you said, you're getting graded on this, not me. There's no reason I should have to put up with this bullshit from you. There's no reason _any _of us should." Mitch paused a moment at this, as if considering. Finally, he nodded. "In fact, I'm not going to any longer. I quit."

Lisa's eyes went wide. "What?"

Mitch nodded again. "Yeah. I quit. I fucking quit. You've treated me like shit this whole time, and I'm done with this. It's your grade, it's your problem, you fucking deal with it. Bitch."

Cindy felt her heart skip a beat. She hopped, excitedly, from where she still stood beneath the Campground archway. "I quit too!"

Lisa whirled on her now. "You what? You can't – you – you what?"

Cindy nodded. She'd been wanting to quit the documentary for weeks now. Lisa was such a nasty person, and she was so mean! But that was just it. Cindy had been too afraid to stand up to Lisa by herself. Not only that, but she would have felt like a crybaby, if she was to just up and leave by herself, just because she didn't like the director yelling at her. She knew that was something she should probably get used to as an aspiring actress. But seeing Mitch do it just now, and knowing she wouldn't be walking away from this alone – knowing that someone else was having as much trouble dealing with Lisa as her – that changed her whole perspective. "I quit too! I've hated working on this documentary, Lisa. You expect everyone to pitch in and do their part to help you get your grade, but all they get out of it in return is you treating them like shit! Why should anyone do that?"

Mitch looked over at her and smiled. She smiled back.

Lisa looked back and forth between the two of them, the expression of shock on her face slowly morphing to one of anger. "Well isn't that just fucking great!" She turned back to Kyle. "What about you? Are you quitting on me too?"

Kyle paused a moment, glancing over to Mitch, then over to Cindy, before looking back at Lisa, who he was standing closest to. Finally he shook his head. "Naw, Lis, I'm still in."

Cindy's face fell a bit at that... but it didn't matter. She'd already quit, she didn't want to go back, and even if she did, she knew she couldn't. But it was okay, because Mitch had quit too! Lisa was being unreasonable.

Cindy wasn't aware of the depths of unreasonableness Lisa was capable of reaching. But she was about to find out.

Lisa's face softened a bit after Kyle had said he was staying with her, but it didn't last long. As Mitch turned and began to walk to get the last case of his equipment, Lisa's expression quickly hardened again, and she marched up to Kyle, and grabbed him by the elbow.

"Lis, what're you-" was all Kyle was able to get out before Lisa shoved him through the van's still open rear doors, slamming them behind him, and sprinting to the van's front seat. She got in, gunned the engine, and took off down the dirt road.

"What the fuck?" Mitch started after the van, his equipment forgotten momentarily as he shouted after the departing vehicle. "LISA, WHAT THE FUCK? YOU CAN'T JUST FUCKING LEAVE US HERE!"

Several yards down the path, the van stopped, and the window rolled down. Lisa leaned out. "You're right, Mitch. My documentary isn't your problem. And how you're going to find your way back to Springwood – or Athens, for that matter – isn't mine!" And with that, she floored it again, just before Mitch was able to reach the back doors. A cloud of dust kicked up into Mitch's face, and by the time it had cleared, the van was already almost out of sight.

"That fucking bitch." Mitch said softly. He suddenly reached down, and picked up a large rock, hurling it after the van. "That fucking _bitch_!"

Cindy was shocked beyond words. Lisa had left. More than that, she'd stranded them there. Cindy was suddenly very aware of how dark it had gotten, and how quiet the surrounding woods had suddenly grown.

A sudden blast of thunder caused Cindy to scream. The storm was almost right on top of them.

* * *

Lisa and Kyle rode in silence. It had taken a moment for Kyle to get his bearings and realize what had just happened, and another to make his way from the back of the van to the passenger seat. Now Kyle sat next to Lisa, watching her wide-eyed as she stared straight ahead, a dark glare on her face.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "So, uh... we gonna go back and get them? Lesson learned and all that?"

"No." Lisa didn't look at him. Kyle hadn't seen her like this before. He got the impression that leaving Mitch and Cindy behind had been an act of pure impulse, and Lisa was deliberately not allowing herself to think too much about it, for fear of realizing how insanely bitchtastic it was. She was pissed, and she intended to stay pissed and stick by her decision, no matter how rash (or wrong) it was.

"Lis... seriously... we should probably not, ya know, leave them here. Alone. In the dark. When it's getting ready to storm." It had begun to grow very dark now, a combination of the storm rolling in, and the sun going down. Kyle couldn't see it, but he had a feeling sunset had just about run its course. He glanced out the window. Trees surrounded them on both sides of the narrow road, the lengthening shadows making it impossible to discern just how thick the forest really was. It made him very uneasy. He locked his door.

"We're not going back." Lisa said firmly. She flipped on the headlights. Ahead in the road, a raccoon froze in the sudden light momentarily, before diving off into the foliage. "Mitch is an asshole, and Cindy is a moron. A night in the cold rain will do them some good. Besides, they've got cell phones. They'll survive."

Kyle hadn't thought of that. He quickly pulled out his cell phone, flipping it open and glancing at the display window. "Well, I hope they don't use Verizon. There's absolutely no fucking signal out here." He glanced at Lisa again, quickly, before replacing his phone.

A flash of lightning illuminated what little of the overcast sky that was visible directly above them. It was a few seconds before a low rumble of thunder followed. Lisa casually reached over and locked her door as well.

Kyle felt the need to go back and get Mitch and Cindy slowly start to fade. The need to leave was replacing it. What _was _it about this place?

The van's headlights suddenly revealed a glint up a ways, off to the side of the road. As they drew closer, Kyle saw that it was a police car. A policeman, different than the one they'd encountered at the station, younger, stepped out of the driver's side, and waved to them. Lisa drove straight past him, not looking back.

Kyle glanced at her again. "Lisa, I think he was waving you down."

Lisa shrugged. "Let him come after me then."

Kyle glanced in the review mirror. The cop was staring after them, but making no attempt to follow. Kyle felt a strong relief wash over him. Lisa had begun to speed up noticeably. Kyle knew she would never admit it, but she wanted out of here just as bad as he did.

"So." he asked after a moment. "Where we headed to now then?"

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Where do you think, genius?"

"Back to Springwood?"

"Back to Springwood."

Kyle arched an eyebrow. "Without a microphone operator? Or a host?"

"I'll host. We'll have to reshoot the two or three scenes that Cindy was actually on camera for. We can just redub the rest. And that camera of yours has a pretty powerful microphone, doesn't it?"

Kyle nodded. "Next best thing to boom."

"Right. Plus, we have the wireless lapel mics. We'll make do. It's... going to set us back a bit behind schedule." Lisa's voice faltered a bit as she said this as if it was the first time she'd considered it. "But, I think we can pull it off. We managed to shed a lot of this team's weight without losing any of the talent."

It took a moment for Kyle to grasp just what Lisa had said. "Did you just say I have talent?"

Lisa sighed. "Kyle, shut the hell up."

"You say such sweet things!"

Lisa rolled her eyes and responded no further. Kyle grinned, putting his hands behind his head, and leaning back in the chair. Yeah, they'd lost Mitch and Cindy. But Mitch was kind of a dick, and Cindy, as hot as she was, really had a head full of rocks. So no big loss there.

Of course, there'd probably be hell to pay once they ran into Cindy and Mitch in the future. They all went to the same school back in Athens, the University of Ohio, and were all taking classes in the same department, so it was bound to happen sooner or later. But Kyle was willing to burn that bridge when they crossed it.

Plus, if he was going to be completely honest with himself, Forest Green gave him the fucking creeps. He felt like he'd been in that town from _Deliverance_, ever since they'd arrived that afternoon. Especially after being yelled at by that fat redneck cop, and watching that old man hit Lisa. It was good to be leaving. To be heading back to Springwood.

Where it was safe.

* * *

Deputy John Miller swore under his breath as he watched the van's tail lights disappear into the darkness down the road. He supposed he should've expected those college kids from out of town to be keeping their distance, especially after the irrational way Sheriff Bozza had behaved when they'd come into the station earlier. Though, seeing as how his cruiser (the only cruiser at Forest Green's disposal, in fact) had broken down, and his dash radio didn't seem to want to transmit, it would've been a lot more convenient for him if they had stopped when he'd flagged them down. He was going to have to walk now, and judging by the dropping temperature, rising wind, and ominous rumbling in the distance, one hell of a storm was on its way.

It was true, Miller had only been an officer here for about three months, since he transferred from St. Louis, so he didn't know firsthand the kind of havoc that had been wreaked in the name of the local Voorhees legend, but he still didn't think that was any reason to scream at a bunch of kids and order them to leave the town, just for mentioning a name. He'd been sent out here by Sheriff Bozza to make sure the kids left, and he'd intended on apologizing to them as well for the Sheriff's actions earlier.

Bozza had also told him to keep an eye out for three teenagers from the neighboring town of Apple Creek who'd been seen buying camping supplies at the General Store. Though they'd sworn to Eustace, the General Store's proprietor (who was even battier than Sheriff Bozza) that they were only passing through on the way to their real destination, Lake Treehorn, Eustace had come into the station ranting and raving that he'd seen their station wagon take a turn down the dirt road leading to the old campgrounds.

This had been before the college kids had shown up, so it may have partially explained why Bozza was so worked up by that dark haired girl... what had her name been? Lizzy? Elise? He supposed that it really didn't matter.

On top of that, a constant trouble maker named Tommy Jarvis had been spotted in town recently, too. According to files, Tommy, a former mental patient, had been stirring up shit in Forest Green since the late '80's. When developers announced, back in 2002, their intentions to renovate and reopen Camp Crystal Lake, Tommy had shown up, almost like magic, and tried to start a town wide petition to stop them. The developers (Weyland-Yutani, some American/Japanese merger company) were huge, however, and even if the entire town had signed Tommy's petition, which they hadn't, Miller doubted it would've halted construction. The town was desperate to revitalize, having become almost a ghost town during the late '80's and early '90's.

Then, in the fall of 2003, when the camp was still undergoing renovation, it had mysteriously burned down. And Tommy mysteriously dropped off the radar right afterward. The thought of being stranded out in the dark woods during a storm while some crazed pyro might be anywhere wasn't exactly comforting.

So to take stock, he'd been sent out here to chase off some student film makers, possibly some high school kids, all the while keeping an eye out for a crazy arsonist.

Miller sighed, glancing at the car again. He'd already tried to restart it three times now. The last time it hadn't even tried to turn over. It just gave a dull click, then nothing. Forest Green's police department had become way underfunded, in the attempts to revitalize every other part of the town, and this, their lone, P.O.S. Cruiser was the apex of that neglect.

From the woods behind him, across the dirt road, he heard a branch snap loudly. He quickly spun in the direction of the sound, his hand instinctively going to his gun holster. His eyes scanned the darkness.

"Hello?" Silence was the only response. Miller's hand moved from his gun, to his flashlight. He drew it and shined it on the woods, in the direction he thought he heard the sound.

Trees and nothing more. A low level fog was slowly beginning to gather along the ground. Thunder rumbled softly overhead once more. Miller started to lower his flashlight. He supposed-

With an unearthly scream, something came running out of the woods where he had been shining his flashlight. Miller cried out sharply and drew his gun, just as the creature darted into his flashlight's beam and froze.

It was just a raccoon.

Miller exhaled deeply. "Son of a bitch. You scared the hell out of me, you stupid fuckin' thing."

The raccoon responded by hissing menacingly, before dashing past the police cruiser, and into the woods on the side of the road where it was parked. Miller watched it go... and froze.

Just within the line of trees on his side of the road, near where the raccoon had run, a shape was standing. It was a man, from the looks of it. A very, very large man.

Miller felt a lump rise in his throat. Tommy Jarvis. This huge thing must be that psycho Tommy Jarvis. Miller quickly raised his gun and pointed it at the shape. "Alright, I see you out there. Come on out of the woods, slowly."

The shape didn't move. It just stood there. Watching Miller. Good Christ, this guy was huge! His shoulders had to be at least five feet across, and he must've stood almost seven feet tall. The guy was a monster. He didn't appear to be armed, though, so that was a bit of a relief. Miller was certain he could put him down if he had to.

"Come on, pal," the deputy continued. He raised his flashlight up now, aiming it along the barrel of his pistol, and training the beam on the man standing in the woods.

And immediately wishing he hadn't.

Whoever this was, Miller was somehow certain it wasn't Tommy Jarvis.

The hockey mask was the first thing that caught Miller's attention. It was battered, smeared with mud, and stained a sickly, yellowish color, but it was definitely a hockey mask. It was covering the man's face, though in the darkness, Miller couldn't see his eyes. Just the two, black holes of the mask. The man's clothes were tattered, soaked, and ancient looking. They looked like work clothes, dark brown, pants, boots, a shirt, and a heavy, brown coat over it. Gloves covered his hands.

But the man's skin. There was something wrong with his skin. He was bald, and his skin was a horrible, blackish-blue color.

Back when Miller was working for the police department in St. Louis, he had been called to a crime scene down by the docks near the Martin Luther King Bridge. A corpse had been pulled from the river. That was what this man... this _creature_... looked like. He looked like a walking, waterlogged, corpse.

Miller took a shaky step back, just as the creature took a slow, deliberate one forward.

"S-stay back!" Miller said, raising the gun again. "Just... just stay where you are, alright?"

The creature didn't heed his warning. It took another step, walking slowly, deliberately toward him. Maybe it didn't see the gun! Miller fired it once in the air. "Stay back! Last chance!"

The thing didn't falter at all, didn't even pause even when the shot went off. It stepped out of the woods. It was less than eight feet from Miller now. It continued toward the road, toward him.

Without thinking about it, Miller fired a shot. The bullet punched a hole in the forehead of the hockey mask, and finally the creature stopped. Miller gasped, as he slowly realized he'd just shot a man in the head for doing little more than walking out of the woods.

The man... the creature... didn't fall. After a moment, it continued toward Miller. It's steps became quicker, and its gait had a distinctly aggressive feel to it.

Miller raised the gun, and once again without thinking about it began firing. He pulled the trigger over and over. Bullets ripped into the creatures arms, its chest, its face. Blackish muck oozed from the wounds, but the creature didn't even slow down now. In fact, its speed seemed to have increased.

It was about this time that Miller realized his gun had begun clicking impotently. He was out of bullets. Horrified, he turned to run. He didn't know where he was going to run to, but he didn't care. Away. Away from this enormous monster, this giant thing. This boogeyman out in the woods.

But it was too late. Miller felt an enormous, gloved hand catch him by the back of the throat. The creature lifted him into the air, swung him around, and viciously slammed his face into the hood of his cruiser, with a huge bang. Miller felt his nose shatter, he felt his front teeth break. He felt an incredibly painful pop in his right eye, and a warm liquid began oozing through his eye lid. Vaguely, Miller realized his eye had punctured. The creature drew him back, and Miller saw, through the bloody haze of his remaining left eye, that he'd left a dent six inches deep on the cruiser's hood. The creature then slammed his face into the hood again. Miller felt more teeth break, he felt his lower jaw completely separate from the rest of his skull. Blindness engulfed him as his left eye was now obliterated too. His forehead felt caved in, and he could feel warm fluids running out of his ears.

The creature drew Miller back, and slammed his ruined face into the hood once more.

Rational thought was now gone. Pain had completely engulfed Miller's very being, along with a primal desire to die and end it.

With a wet, squelch, the creature peeled the remains of John Miller's face off the hood, before slamming it one last time against the car. And Miller's desire was granted.

Jason held up the corpse of the policeman after slamming him against the car the last time and waited to see if he'd move again. When he didn't, Jason tossed what was left of him across the car's hood, and glanced down the road.

(_Jason... my special, special boy! Mommy is very, very proud of you for keeping all the naughty boys and girls out of our special place! And dispatching any of the wayward adults that would try to help them too! But your work isn't finished yet, darling. There are more out there. More of those awful children, defiling our land. They know what they're doing is wrong. They were warned to stay out, and they chose not to heed those warnings. And now they must be punished._)

Yes. Mother was right. Jason knew there were more of the bad boys and girls out there. He could sense them. Some of them had just left, and that was fine. Let them go. They were of no concern.

But there were more still within the woods. Within the camp. His camp. His territory.

(_Find them, Jason, my darling boy. Find them, and punish them. They made the choice to come here. Now they must not leave!_)

No. They must not. And they would not. Clenching his fists, Jason began lumbering down the road. Toward Camp Crystal Lake.

Toward _his_ territory...

**Author's Note**: You guys are going to have to let me know what you think of this. I've never written a _Friday the 13__th_ story before, or a story like this in general, so I'm a wee bit nervous. I've definitely got plans to continue, though those plans won't be hindered at all by reviews. Nay, they will in fact be encouraged! So PLEASE read and review!

Also, if you're at all curious as to the fate of the characters Kyle and Lisa... (_shameless self-plugging alert_)...why not pop over and check out my _Nightmare on Elm Street_ story _Nightmare House_? Their story, as well as their "mad quest" is continued there.


	2. His Territory II

**Author's note:** Bazanga! Bet you didn't think this bad boy was ever getting updated again, didn't you? Well… for a while you were right. I wasn't exactly feeling inspired for this story for a while. But then, inspiration struck from nothingness, as it is wont to do.

I should warn anybody reading this story that it ties pretty heavily into a _Nightmare on Elm Street_ story, called _Nightmare House, _which I'm currently working on at the same time. There's some stuff that occurs in here that will have some bearing on that story and vice versa. They can be read completely separately of course… but I feel they tell a more _complete_ story together!

Anywho, onward and upward and all that…

"**His Territory"**

**Part II**

_Two hours previous…_

Britney Grey sighed as she hefted her black duffle bag out of the back of the station wagon. All that remained in the car now was a single, brown cardboard box, the words "Do not touch!" written in large black letters on its side. It seemed they'd unloaded everything else.

Britney was an attractive girl, with dark, chestnut hair, currently tied back in a messy ponytail and equally dark brown eyes. She wore form fitting blue skinny jeans and her purple and gold Apple Creek High letterman's jacket over a deep purple top.

She furrowed her brow at the writing on the box before calling over her shoulder. "Hey, guys? Which one of you brought the 'do not touch' box?"

Bobby Elbert quickly stood from where he was attempting (rather unsuccessfully) to pitch the large, expensive, one room tent he'd convinced his parents to buy for the occasion. He was tall, with shaggy brown hair and icy blue eyes. He wore a dark red hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans. "Whoa! That's mine! Don't touch!" He sprinted across the clearing they'd made camp at, hastily snatching up the box out of the station wagon's trunk. Britney heard the clattering of bottles from within the box and raised an eyebrow. Bobby smiled broadly at her. "Hey, I told you we were gonna have fun tonight, Brit." He shook the box, which clattered louder. "This is fun!"

It was true. Bobby had promised Britney and Lena a weekend of fun on his dime going camping this weekend. His parents were the wealthiest in Apple Creek, his father Murray being the owner and operator of Elbert Machine, a steel sheet storage yard. Britney wasn't totally sure what that meant, but apparently a lot of businesses contracted with Elbert Machine. Meaning Britney had had no reason to doubt Bobby when he said he'd pay for the whole trip. Lena had, of course, instantly agreed to go. She was obsessed with Bobby and had been for the past three years, since their freshman year. Lena had proceeded to invite Britney as well, and Bobby readily agreed that Britney should come. She had been hesitant, especially in light of Bobby's enthusiasm about the idea, knowing his reputation with women and what he liked to… try to get them to do. But she knew if she didn't go, Lena would just go with Bobby by herself. And Britney liked the idea of abandoning her best friend (who, God bless her, wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed) to Bobby's lechery even less.

Of course Britney had been a bit surprised when it turned out that Bobby's idea of paying for the whole trip was driving to a secluded clearing in the middle of the woods near an abandoned camp ground. An abandoned camp ground that everyone in the nearby town, Forest Green was too afraid to come near to stop them. Britney didn't know much about Camp Forest Green, but everybody knew about the local Voorhees legend. Most people dismissed it as an urban legend, and Britney did too… but even thinking about someone stalking around the woods watching them made her uncomfortable.

As if on cue, Lena Taylor suddenly came out of the line of trees next to the car, shaking her head. She was a bit taller and a bit thinner than Britney. She had long black hair, which she currently had pushed back with a dark blue headband and bright green eyes. She wore a matching blue top, a black felt jacket, a short black skirt, thigh high black socks, and flats. "Yeah, the campgrounds are just past those trees, but the cabins seem locked up pretty tight. Even if they did leave the water running, I don't think we're gonna be able to use their showers. Or their toilets."

Bobby's grin broadened as he carried the box back to the tent he was attempting to set up. "Nothing puts hair on your chest like pooping in the woods, ladies!"

Lena giggled at this. Britney found it less amusing. "Gross, Bobby…"

"Oh, lighten up!" He set the box down, opening it, and pulling out two bottles of beer. He tossed one to Lena, before cracking open his own and taking a swig. "This trip isn't gonna be much fun with that stick lodged up your ass the whole time, Brit."

Lena popped her beer open with her sleeve, before glancing around the clearing. "So this is it, huh? This is Camp Crystal Lake?"

"Camp Forest Green now." Bobby corrected her. He smiled darkly, glancing over at Britney. "The locals got tired of attracting the wrong kind of publicity with Camp Crystal Lake… aka, Camp Blood."

"You mean your kind of publicity?" Britney cracked a smile, arching an eyebrow at him.

Bobby shrugged, taking another swig of his beer. "Like it or not, they got it. You can't just bury a history like the one Crystal Lake has. There are estimates that the death toll by murder in these woods alone runs up into the hundreds. Can you believe that? The hundreds!"

Britney furrowed her brow. "The hundreds? No. I really _can't_ believe that."

Bobby nodded. "It's true! I read about it in a book! _My Life of Hell: One Man's Fight Against Jason Voorhees._ Written by Tommy Jarvis. You know who that is?"

Lena sipped her beer. "I think I read about him on Yahoo news one time. Isn't he some kinda nutcase? Always freaking out when they try to reopen the camp here?"

"He's a survivor!" Bobby exclaimed. Britney was surprised at how enthusiastic he seemed about this. "He's the only person who's ever encountered Jason Voorhees more than once and lived! At least that's what he says in his books."

"If you even buy into all that bullshit." Britney added. "Yeah, there've been some murders here, but I'm sure it's all been blown out of proportion. To believe that one guy, over the course of some thirty odd years, has been killing and killing hundreds of people in the same fucking area of the woods and never been caught? It's ridiculous."

Bobby shrugged. "The locals obviously believe it. You saw the way that old guy at the general store reacted when we stopped there to buy lighter fluid."

That was true too. Britney remembered the wild look in the old man's eyes when he'd aggressively interrogated them about where they were going. It had taken Bobby a good fifteen minutes to finally convince him that they were heading to Lake Treehorn, not Crystal Lake. And even then the old man hadn't seemed one hundred percent convinced. But he'd also struck Britney as not exactly one hundred percent sane either. "That's your star witness, huh? You're right. No argument can stand against that."

Bobby tossed back another swig of beer before shrugging again. "Believe what you want, Brit." A grin slowly formed on his face and he tossed a wink to Lena. "Guess we'll find out tonight! If Jason's out there, he probably won't take too kindly to a buncha uppity high schoolers spending the night in his territory!"

Lena laughed, wiggling her fingers under her chin. "Wooooooo! Spooooooooky!"

Britney shook her head. This whole thing was stupid. Off in the distance, thunder rumbled softly. Britney looked up at the dark, overcast sky and sighed. "Oh good. It's going to storm. What a great weekend you picked for a camping trip, Bobby."

Bobby rolled his eyes, before setting his beer on the ground and going back to setting up the tent. "Ah, don't worry about it! This tent is gonna be rock solid when I set it up. And completely water proof."

Britney sighed deeply as she watched Bobby struggling with the tent poles. He clearly had no idea what he was doing.

This was going to be the worst weekend ever.

* * *

_Two hours later…_

The sky had opened up and the downpour fell in sheets as the rusted red pickup truck roared down the dirt road that lead to Camp Crystal Lake.

Tommy Jarvis sat behind the wheel, his eyes narrowed as he struggled to see. Even with the truck's high-beams on and the windshield wipers at maximum velocity, the rain slashing at the windshield, coupled with the darkness of the night had left visibility at a near zero. The bulging black clouds Tommy had seen looming on the horizon on his long drive from Michigan hung oppressively overhead now, utterly blocking out the night sky. Combined with the dense line of trees on either side of the road, Tommy felt very claustrophobic, as if travelling through a deep dark tunnel with no end.

The vinyl steering wheel squealed against the leather, fingerless gloves Tommy wore as he tightened his grip. His brown hair had grown long and unkempt, his lined, weather worn face sporting a week's worth of stubble. He wore his old, battered, wool lined denim jacket, over an old brown work shirt, blue jeans, and scuffed, tan work boots. His light, hazel eyes were intense, staring straight ahead, scarcely blinking.

He probably could have picked a better night to do this. But he'd already come this far. It'd taken him a long time to convince himself to come back and he wasn't certain he'd be able to do it again if he turned back now.

Come back to the scene of the terrible events of his childhood. The events that had derailed his entire life and set him careening onto his current course.

The summer of 1984. The summer he and his family, his mother and his sister Trish, spent in a cabin at Crystal Lake. The memories were dim and hazy. Tommy had managed to purge them from his conscious mind for the most part. He remembered the partying teenagers in the cabin next door. They had all died. He remembered that guy, Rob, who'd come looking for his sister. He liked Rob. Rob had died too.

He remembered his mother. In the end, even she'd been killed at Jason's hand. Tommy and Trish had been the only ones to make it out alive.

But one memory in particular stood out clearly.

Driving the machete into the side of that maniac's head. Hacking at him again and again. Over and over. Until finally he'd stopped moving.

Again and again. Over and over.

He'd been only twelve years old.

He remembered spending the next five years in and out of mental institutions. Being sent to that halfway house.

The hallucinations that Jason had returned.

That psychotic EMT who'd posed as Jason and murdered everyone at the halfway house until only Tommy, the assistant director of the halfway house, Pam, and a boy named Reggie were left. Again, Tommy had been forced to kill in self-defense, as he'd been the one to push the Jason impersonator to his death.

That had nearly been the last straw on Tommy's sanity. At the hospital after that, he had even put Jason's mask on and attempted to finish the job on Pam himself. Thank God the orderlies had come in just in time and managed to subdue him until Pam had calmed him down…

Then, another two years went by. Tommy, again incarcerated in a mental institution, had decided the only way he could finally rid himself of the hallucinations (which had never and probably _would_ never stop) was to dig up Jason's corpse, and cremate it himself. He'd originally been told the corpse had been cremated to begin with, but later learned that someone had, at the last minute, paid to have Jason interred in the ground rather than incinerated. Tommy had never found out who was stupid (or insane) enough to have requested that…

He'd escaped from the mental hospital, arrived at the Eternal Peace Cemetery in Crystal Lake, dug Jason up … but then he'd let his emotions get the best of him. In a rage, he'd attacked the corpse with an iron spike he pulled off of the cemetery's fence. It had been storming that night, just like tonight as a matter of fact. Through a series of events that Tommy still wasn't entirely clear on, his anger having clouded his memory of the time, lightning had struck the iron fence post while it was still stuck in Jason's body… and somehow revived him, stronger and more unstoppable than ever. But again, Tommy had somehow defied the odds, had somehow managed to stop Jason again, chaining him to the bottom of the lake where he'd first drowned, trapping him, hopefully, forever.

That had been the last time Tommy had personally encountered Jason. He'd left Crystal Lake after that, never looking back.

At least until 2003. After having become almost a ghost town in the late nineties, a development company had come along and attempted to restore the camp again. Tommy had returned to Crystal Lake then, passing around a petition to try to keep the camp from opening. He had a feeling the petition wasn't going to make a difference, however, and was well prepared to take matters into his own hands…

And then the camp had burned itself down.

And claimed the lives of several teenagers from the town of Springwood, a small, white picket fence, suburban fantasy town a few hours' drive from Crystal Lake.

Tommy couldn't believe that Jason didn't have a hand in it. And from then on he vowed that if they ever tried to open the camp again, he wouldn't bother with the legal routes. He'd deal with it personally.

And now Crystal Lake, in an attempt to revitalize, had once again changed its name to Forest Green to distance itself from its own bloody history, and was trying to reopen the camp once more.

Tommy glanced out the window in the back of the cab at the trucks bed. Strapped down were two large plastic chests, and four full gas cans.'

He wasn't going to let anyone else die.

Tommy turned his gaze back to the road… and saw _him_. He was standing in the middle of the road, machete in his right hand, the headlights reflecting off of his dirty, stained, hockey mask.

Jason Voorhees.

Out of pure reflex, Tommy stamped down on the brakes. Instantly, the truck skidded out of control on the rain soaked, muddy dirt road, its back end fishtailing, the truck spinning in a complete 360, before finally coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the road.

Tommy sat frozen for a moment, his heart thudding in his chest, his hands gripping the wheel tighter than ever. Sweet Jesus, it was him. It was Jason. Somehow, he'd known Tommy was coming! He'd been waiting for him! Wasting no more time, Tommy quickly reached under the seat of the truck, withdrawing a flashlight… and a Remington 12 gauge. He cocked the shotgun, before opening the door to the truck and stepping out into the storm.

He was soaked almost instantly, the rain falling not so much in drops, but in complete streams, as if a million water hoses in the sky had been suddenly opened to full stream. Tommy shined his flashlight along the barrel of his shotgun back in the direction he'd come from, taking a few steps forward. Jason was nowhere to be seen.

"Where are you, you bastard?" Tommy had to shout over the downpour. "Where the fuck are you!"

After a moment, Tommy's heart slowed back to its normal pace. Slowly, he lowered the flashlight so that it shone on the muddy road. Aside from the deep tire marks Tommy had left when he'd nearly wiped out, the mud seemed undisturbed. Jason was huge; there was no way he wouldn't have left his mark standing in the middle of this mess, even with it raining as hard as it was.

Jason hadn't been out here after all. It had been another fucking hallucination.

"Son of a bitch." Tommy lowered the shotgun and sighed. He'd been dealing with hallucinations of Jason all his life, ever since he first encountered him. As he'd grown into adulthood, the hallucinations had come fewer and farther in between but they'd never totally stopped. He'd essentially gotten to a point where he only saw them when he was under intense stress or duress.

Like he was right now. Perfect. So he'd almost run himself into a ditch and gotten completely drenched all for nothing.

Tommy started to turn back to his truck when a sudden flash of light illuminated something large and white on the other side of the road.

It was a police cruiser. It looked empty.

A resounding thunder crash followed and instantly an alarm went off in the back of Tommy's head. He raised the shotgun and began creeping toward the car. As he drew nearer, he could definitely tell something was off.

The hood of the police car was dented to hell and back, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Tommy shined the flashlight inside, and saw that the car itself was empty. He stepped around to the passenger's side… and froze as lightning flashed again.

A man was lying face down next to the car in a growing puddle of mud. He was dressed in the tan uniform of the Forest Green P.D. And he wasn't moving. Tommy could tell by the utter stillness with which he lay that this poor bastard was definitely dead. Nevertheless, he made his way over to the body and, using his foot, flipped it over…

And recoiled in horror.

The man's face was a mass of shredded and smashed tissue. The front of his skull was completely caved in, and Tommy could dimly tell where the eye sockets and mouth had once been. The jaw was agape and dislocated, the few teeth that remained cracked and broken. A mass of tangled tissue hung from one of the eye sockets, something that looked very much like a small, glassy white, popped balloon hanging from the end. Thunder rumbled again.

"Fuck me…" Tommy swore softly, standing slowly, before finally managing to tear his gaze from the mutilated corpse to the surrounding forest. Jason had been here, obviously. Tommy had hoped against hope that Jason would be dormant, as he sometimes was, but this was proof that he wasn't. He was out there somewhere.

Tommy's thoughts of turning back and trying again another night surfaced once more, but he quickly quelled them. If Jason was awake, then it was more important than ever to make sure the camp they were trying to reopen was destroyed. And if he had to take on Jason again, well… he'd beaten him twice before right?

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, asshole." Tommy shook his head. He knew that defeating Jason in the past had been about 2% his own cunning and about 98% blind, stupid luck. Plus he'd had Trish to help him the first time, Megan the second. Hell, even when he fought the imposter Jason, he'd had Pam and Reggie. This time he was on his own. He turned to head back to his truck. This complicated things but it didn't change them. He still…

Tommy froze as lightning flashed again. Several yards up the road from where he stood, back in the direction he'd come from, someone was standing. Watching him.

Instantly, Tommy brought the shotgun back up, training his flashlight along the barrel once more. "Who's out there?"

"I mean you no harm." It was a man's voice, shouting to be heard over the rain. Tommy lowered the shotgun slightly, but didn't take his finger off the trigger. Slowly, he made his way over to where the man stood.

He was tall, taller than Tommy by at least six inches and his shoulders were very broad. He had long, dark raven hair that hung loose and limp over his shoulders due to the rain. He wore a brown leather jacket over a blue flannel shirt, blue jeans, and brown hiking boots. He looked to be at least ten years or so older than Tommy, perhaps late forties or early fifties. His face was stern, his eyes such a dark brown they were nearly black, his mouth a grim line, and Tommy could tell by the shade of his skin that the man was Native American. He had his hands in his pockets, but didn't seem to be any sort of a threat, so Tommy finally allowed the shotgun's barrel to tilt down to the ground, taking his finger off the trigger. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Eli," the man replied. "Eli Wolfsong. And I'm here to warn you not to go any further. Only death lies that way."

Tommy sighed, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder. "Thanks for the tip. Any other news flashes you wanna run by me?"

The man, Eli, raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You have been here before, I take it."

Tommy nodded. "Once or twice." His eyes narrowed. "How'd you even know I'd be out here?"

"I saw it in a dream." Eli looked past Tommy, over at the police car, before his gaze shifted to the forest beyond. Tommy followed his gaze, before turning back to him and nodding slowly.

"Right, well, Mr. Wolfsong, I suggest you go back to wherever it is you came from." He turned to head back to his truck. "It's not safe out here. In fact, when you get home, call the police. Not the hillbillies in Crystal… in Forest Green, either. Call the state cops. Tell them to roadblock this-"

"That man is dead."

Tommy paused. From where he stood, it was impossible to see the dead cop on the other side of the car. He was fairly certain Eli wouldn't have been able to see him either. He slowly turned back to him.

"How did you-"

"Then it has already begun." Eli locked eyes with Tommy now. "The killing has begun again."

"Yeah, well…" Tommy gestured to his truck. "I aim to do something about it. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"There is nothing you'll be able to do but get yourself killed!" The sudden emotion in the other man's voice caught Tommy off guard. He turned back to face him. Eli wore the same grim expression, but his eyes were pleading. "There is a darkness in this land. A Black Spirit. It lay dormant for centuries but it has been awakened. And tonight, it is taking action."

Tommy nodded. "Trust me pal, I know all about Crystal Lake's darkness. Jason Voorhees killed my mother. He almost killed me! Twice! And he fucked me up in the head pretty good for life."

Eli shook his head. "Jason Voorhees is only a symptom of the true cancer that infects the land called Crystal Lake."

Tommy furrowed his brow. He was beginning to wonder about this guy's sanity. Granted, Tommy himself wasn't exactly the poster boy for sound and well balanced, but Crystal Lake had a long, proud tradition of wacko "soothsayers" and this Eli fellow was starting to fit the bill.

Eli seemed to notice the look Tommy was giving him. "You seem to be aware of just what exactly Jason Voorhees is, correct?"

Tommy shook his head slowly. "More so than you could possibly know."

Eli nodded. "Then how can it be entirely beyond the realm of possibility for you that something darker might lie behind his actions? That something happened to him when he drowned in that lake as a boy? That there might be a driving force behind his mindless need to kill anyone who comes near Camp Crystal Lake?"

Tommy looked away from Eli at this. The man had a point. Tommy had seen, with his own eyes, Jason's decayed and desiccated corpse revived and rejuvenated by lighting, ala Frankenstein. He really didn't have a reference with which to judge what was beyond the scope of possibility. Slowly, he looked back up at Eli. "So… you think an evil spirit is what drives Jason?"

"What drives him. What created him." Eli's grim look darkened. "What makes him deathless…"

Tommy shuddered at that last bit. Deathless. A monster, immune to death, who reveled in dealing it out to everything around him. Tommy had never really put it in that perspective before, but now that he had, it almost felt like there _had_ to be some kind of dark, supernatural influence over Camp Crystal Lake. "So, the death curse is real after all."

"Indeed." Eli moved past Tommy to scan the forest beyond. "Many centuries ago, this land was inhabited by my people, the Shokanee. It was a happy, plentiful place then."

Tommy tilted his head. "The Shokanee? I've never heard of that tribe."

Eli nodded. "That is unsurprising. There are very, very few of us left. But back then, we were a strong people, wise in the ways of this world and the spirit realm. My people were Dream Walkers in those days."

Tommy shook his head. He was getting very lost very quickly. "Dream Walkers?"

Eli nodded again, a distant look in his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Oh yes. All men enter the land of dreams when they sleep. But my people knew how to navigate that land. How to communicate with the spirits that lived there. The brother-gods who ruled that land. One a great spirit who shone with a burning white light. This spirit guided men into the land of good dreams, drawing strength from their joy and happiness. The other was a terrible spirit who shrouded himself in blackness. He dragged men into his realm of nightmares, drawing strength from their fear and misery."

Lightning flashed, a blast of thunder following almost immediately. Tommy checked to make sure he hadn't left his shoes behind when he'd jumped. Eli hadn't flinched. He continued on with his story.

"The Shokanee Dream Walkers respected and revered the White Spirit, while they hated and feared the Black Spirit. The Black Spirit grew jealous of his brother. He began forcefully dragging Dream Walkers who came to the White Spirit into his own Nightmare Realm, where he'd torture them… sometimes to death."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "To death? In a dream?"

Eli nodded grimly. "Oh yes. Men can die in their dreams. The White Spirit was infuriated with his brother. Their powers weren't meant to be used to cause real harm. A spectacular battle broke out between the White and Black Spirits. In the end, the White Spirit was victorious. However, he was unable to bring himself to kill his own brother. So he cast him out of the land of dreams, into the world of men, where he would lose most of his powers. Five Shokanee Elders were waiting for the Black Spirit when he arrived here, in these very lands. In his weakened state, the Elders were able to bind the Black Sprit to a sacred stone, which they then sank to the bottom of the lake…" he looked over at Tommy now. "The lake that is now called Lake Forest Green. That was once called Crystal Lake."

In light of the darkness that had always plagued Crystal Lake, this story was beginning to make a whole lot of sense to Tommy. He hesitated before asking his next question.

"So… what happened to the White Spirit?"

Eli shook his head. "No one knows. He simply disappeared. Some say he couldn't maintain himself without his brother's power to balance him out, and faded from the Land of Dreams. Some believe he went into seclusion over the guilt of banishing his own brother. And some say he cast himself out of the Land of Dreams, fearing the consequences of trying to rule over the Realm with nothing keeping him in check."

"And your tribe? The Shokanee?"

Eli looked as though he were a million miles away at this point. When he spoke it seemed like he was speaking more to himself than Tommy. "They left the land. They knew what they had trapped beneath the lake and knew that land had been soured by its presence, even if it was a dormant presence. So they all left… with the exception of the five Elders who bound the thing. They created a mystical barrier that stopped the spread of the darkness emanating from the lake, setting totems at five points around the edge of the land. They made it their life's mission to remain at Crystal Lake and keep the darkness contained. When they finally passed, they were buried with the totems they set, the hallowed ground they lay within keeping the malevolence seeping out of the lake at bay. Since their deaths, a Shokanee medicine man has always been assigned by the remaining members of the tribe to keep watch over the land and protect the Elders' burial sites from desecration, for there are those who would attempt to use the darkness in the lake for their own purposes. For the past eleven years, this task has fallen to me."

Tommy's eyes widened at this and he felt a ripple of surprise… and slight outrage… at what Eli had just said. "You mean there's been someone living on the outskirts of Crystal Lake all along that knew what was happening… and didn't do anything about it? You've just allowed people to go to their deaths?"

Eli sighed, visibly irritated by this. Tommy guessed it wasn't the first time the Shokanee medicine man had heard such accusations. "Please understand, we couldn't directly interfere for many reasons, the first of which being that the land that has been corrupted isn't salvageable. My task is containment. What's happened to the Lake has happened and there's no changing it. Jason Voorhees's longevity alone is testament to that. Secondly, having been the ones that contained the evil in the first place, we Shokanee are all marked. If we enter the territory beyond the totems, we are instantly targeted for death and put not only ourselves, but everyone around us in danger."

Tommy shook his head, refusing to let his rising righteous indignation die down. "Well you still could have done _something_! You could have at least tried to warn people! Then maybe-"

"Do you think we haven't tried?" Eli cut him off, rising anger clearly evident in his own voice. "The Elders of the Shokanee petition Crystal Lake's city hall and sheriff's department every month to have this land blocked off from the public! The residents of this place are ignorant and stubborn in their refusal to believe anything outside the ordinary. Surely you yourself can understand how futile it is to try to warn them about what kind of dangers exist out here!"

Again, Eli's point was made. Tommy remembered when _he'd_ tried to warn the town about Jason's return after he'd accidently revived the madman. Tommy had wound up in Crystal Lake's lone jail cell for his troubles and had even been accused of committing that wave of Jason's grisly murders himself. Crystal Lake's stubborn refusal to acknowledge its own blood soaked history was almost a supernatural feat in and of itself.

"But instead, what do they do?" Eli's voice was quieter now, his anger replaced by a quiet, somber tone. "They have the camp site rebuilt. They make way for a whole new batch of innocent victims. They feed the insatiable hunger of the evil thing in the Lake..."

Tommy set his jaw, and gestured to his truck. "Well, I have two crates of dynamite and twenty gallons of gasoline that are going to make sure there's not enough left of the camp to rebuild this time."

Eli slowly looked up at this, his eyes widening in a look that was almost awe. But it wasn't long before they clouded over again. "It will not save those who are already stranded there tonight."

Tommy closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. Son of a bitch. "There are people out there tonight?"

Eli nodded slowly. "I dreamt of them too, but was too late to stop them. Three teenagers and two college students. None of them even suspects what is lurking out in the woods tonight. They are doomed."

Tommy paused and thought about this. This greatly changed things. His original plan had been to get in, destroy the camp, get out. He had hoped people had finally developed enough sense to stay out of the Camp after all the blood that had been shed there. But of course they hadn't. And now there were people out there, and Tommy didn't think he could he could just blow up the camp and leave, knowing that. And knowing that Jason was out there with them. After a long moment, he finally nodded, his decision made. "Not if I can help it." He turned and began heading back to his truck.

"You're still going in there?"

"Yup."

"Even after all I've told you?"

"Yup."

"You realize you're only going to get yourself killed! You can't save any of them!"

Tommy shrugged, but he didn't look back. "Probably not. Gonna try anyway."

"You would risk your life for five people you've never even met?" Eli called out from behind him. "People who you owe nothing? Why?"

Tommy reached his truck and pulled open the door with a creak. "No one else is going to." He started to haul himself into the vehicle, when Eli spoke again.

"Well, if I cannot stop you, perhaps I can give you something that will aid you."

Tommy paused, one foot in the cab of the truck. He turned to look back at Eli, who still stood where he had been the whole time, on the grass across the street. Only now he held something in his hand. The rain had died down somewhat, but it was still drizzling, making it hard to see what it was that dangled from the medicine man's hand. It looked like it might be some kind of necklace.

"What is that?"

"A warding charm," Eli said. "I use it to keep the dark things out of my dreams. Perhaps it will help keep you hidden from the thing in the lake. And from Jason Voorhees."

Tommy shook his head again. "If Jason's awake, I sincerely doubt that charm can do anything for me. Jason's not exactly a big fan of mine."

"Then perhaps it will be of use to someone else you find. Please take it anyway."

Tommy sighed deeply. He didn't have time for this. He pulled his foot out of the cab, slammed the door, and trudged over to where Eli stood. He held out his hand and Eli dropped the charm into it. It was simple, a small, clay disk, about the size of a half dollar, with a small hole directly in the middle. The disk itself had strange markings on it that Tommy didn't recognize. Dangling from the bottom of the disk, by short strings of beads, were three white feathers. The whole thing hung from a thin leather strap. It was clearly meant to be worn around the possessor's neck.

Tommy looked up at Eli and raised an eyebrow. "…Really?"

It was Eli's turn to sigh now. "Still so full of doubt. After all you have seen and heard."

Tommy shrugged, pocketing the charm. "I'd say I doubt _because_ of what I've seen. I've seen a lot of terrible things come out of the supernatural, pal. I've yet to see anything good do the same."

"It is a sad task you have ahead of you, with so little faith as that." Eli shook his head. "I will pray that the White Spirit watches over you."

"Thanks but I hope you'll pardon me when I say I doubt he's listening." Tommy suspected that anything that might be capable of hearing prayers had turned a deaf ear to Crystal Lake. "Go home and call the state police."

Eli nodded to him. "Go with God."

"Yeah. You too, I guess." Tommy shook his head, turning back toward his truck. He reached the door and opened it before pausing and turning back to Eli. "By the way, I'm-"

He stopped short. Eli was gone. Tommy paused, glancing up and down the road and at the surrounding forest. The Shokanee was nowhere to be seen.

"-Probably losing my mind," Tommy finished. "Again." He felt a chill run down his spine and tried, not very successfully, to convince himself it was just from the soaking rain. Finally, he shook his head. It was time to go now. Into the heart of the forest. He had to find the people that were stranded out here. And he had to destroy the camp.

He climbed into the cab of the truck, gunned the engine, and headed in the direction of Camp Crystal Lake.


	3. His Territory III

"**His Territory"  
****Part III**

_The horrible night…_

Cindy Valentine stood with her arms wrapped around herself, watching the downpour in front of her from the safety of the cabin's front porch. The cabin's over hang spared her from the direct rain, but it was storming so heavily, she was still subjected to a lot of the splash back. Her legs were spotted with mud from the mad dash to the cabins as the sky had opened up, the jacket and skirt of her cream colored suit sprinkled here and there with dark water marks. And her red hair was slightly damp, hanging a bit more limply than it had been before the rain started. But other than that, she'd managed to keep from getting completely drenched as she and Mitch Monroe had scrambled to find shelter. The two had been arguing when it had happened, Mitch insisting that they try to walk back to town, while Cindy had felt confident that Lisa Clifton, the girl who'd abandoned them at Camp Forest Green would return.

"She's just being her usual bitchy self!" Cindy had exclaimed to Mitch, standing her ground on the issue. The two of them were still standing below the archway to the campgrounds at that time, where Lisa had left them. "She'll come back. Kyle's a nice guy, he wouldn't let her just abandon us!"

"Kyle's obsessed with Lisa, in case you haven't noticed." The scruffy boom mic operator had retorted. Despite the fact that the sun had been completely blocked out by clouds at that point, Mitch hadn't taken his ball cap or sunglasses off. It left him looking very cold and emotionless. "He'll be all stupid and snarky about it, but he won't dare contradict his goddess of darkness. They ain't coming back. We're stuck out here, and there isn't shit for cell phone service. We have to go back to town."

Cindy hadn't been anxious to go back to town. All they'd encountered there were a rage-a-holic sheriff and a completely psycho old man. Forest Green didn't exactly seem to be populated by the most pleasant people. There was definitely something hugely wrong with the town.

Before Cindy could further argue her point, however, an enormous blast of thunder had erupted in the sky above, shaking the ground and, frankly, scaring the shit out of her. As if it had been the sound of the clouds themselves splitting open, the downpour had followed almost instantaneously. Cindy and Mitch had run through the archway, into the campgrounds themselves and made their way to the six cabins arranged in a horseshoe shape in the clearing just beyond the entrance. They climbed up the steps of the nearest cabin, on the northern tip of the horseshoe and decided to wait out the storm beneath the cabin's overhang. The doors and windows of all the freshly renovated cabins were, of course, locked and bolted, so the two had come to terms with the fact that they'd have to wait out the storm on the porch.

However, after an hour of waiting, the downpour hadn't lessened one bit, and Mitch had grown impatient. Telling Cindy to stay on the porch, he'd decided to go into the woods and see if he could find any nearby residences, from which he might be able to make a phone call. Cindy hadn't had any qualms with this idea at the time. As long as she didn't have to go out into the storm herself.

But that had been almost a half hour ago. And it had grown significantly darker since then.

The rain was still coming down pretty heavily, but it had lightened noticeably from what it had been before. Cindy could clearly see the darkened woods surrounding the camp, and it was making her excessively nervous. She kept thinking she was seeing movement, but it was probably just the wind shaking the trees, or the rain rattling the leaves. Or animals. It could be any number of things!

But the lines from Lisa's script that Cindy had so much trouble memorizing earlier were coming back to her loud and clear now.

_"The camp and indeed the whole town of Forest Green, aka, Crystal Lake, has a supposed 'death curse.' In 1979, seven camp counselors were brutally murdered by the deranged Pamela Voorhees, a woman who had been secretly sabotaging Camp Crystal Lake time and time again since her son's accidental death by drowning at the camp in the 1950's. Mrs. Voorhees blamed negligent counselors for the tragedy. Legend has it that Mrs. Voorhees' son himself, Jason, returned from the dead to claim the lives of anyone foolish enough to venture into the camp. Dozens of people have been cut down in the name of the Jason Voorhees legend…"_

Jason Voorhees. She couldn't remember that name for the life of her earlier. Now she couldn't get it out of her head.

Somewhere off to her right, Cindy heard the loud snap of a branch. Even over the rain it was audible.

"Mitch?" she called out as she scanned the surrounding woods, her voice shaking. It wasn't from the cold. "Is that you?"

Silence was the only response. She saw no one.

Cindy swallowed hard, slowly sinking to a sitting position, against the wall of the cabin, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible to anyone who might be watching her from within the woods.

She wanted to go home…

* * *

_Elsewhere…_

Britney's head was swimming as she sat cross-legged on the floor of the gigantic tent Bobby had pitched for he, Britney, and Lena to stay in. The pounding rain slamming into the tent's canvas roof again and again wasn't helping her clear her head at all. And the flickering of the kerosene lantern that sat between the three of them was really messing with her.

At first she'd watched in dismay as Lena and Bobby downed bottle after bottle of the beer Bobby had brought along, the two of them pressuring Britney the whole time to join them. Britney figured at least one of them should stay clear headed, but their pestering had gotten so obnoxious, Britney had finally, and somewhat impulsively, downed a whole bottle just to shut them up.

Britney had always been a bit of a lightweight. That bottle had loosened enough of her inhibitions for Bobby to convince her to join him and Lena in another. And another. And another.

And now, here she sat in her purple boy short panties, her blouse completely unbuttoned, but not off, exposing her plane, aqua blue bra. Five playing cards were loosely gripped in her hand. Bobby had convinced the two of them to play strip poker with him.

"It'll be fun!" he'd said. "Just to the underwear, nothing weird!"

Well Britney sure felt weird. Especially with the way Bobby's eyes kept flitting between her and Lena.

Lena, on the other hand was on her knees, chugging another bottle of beer, her cards lying on the canvas floor of the tent for the entire world to see. She had stripped down to her underwear completely at this point, but her lingerie was a different story than Britney's. Her bra and panties were black and lacy. Also calling what she wore "panties" was generous, considering how little of her they actually covered. She'd kept her thigh high black stockings on at Bobby's insistence.

Sitting between the two of them, wearing only his charcoal grey boxer briefs, was Bobby. He had several overturned bottles at his side, and held his five cards directly in his face, though his gaze was currently transfixed on Lena, who had finished downing her beer and was now smiling at him, running her fingers around the neck of the bottle suggestively. Britney shook her head.

"Y'know," she said. "We're all in our underwear now. That's as far as you said it would go. Why're we still playing?"

Lena bounced her eyebrows, curling her fingers through her long black hair. Her gaze never faltered from Bobby. "I dunno. I'm up for going farther."

Bobby leered back at her. "That's good!" He laid down his cards. "'Cause I got _five_ aces! I'll let you ladies decide what you're taking off!"

Lena smiled and slowly reached behind her back to unhook her bra… when Britney finally stood up. "Alright! Enough! Seriously, Bobby? I might be a little buzzed right now, but I fucking know how many suits there are in a deck of cards! You can't have five aces, especially since I have the fucking ace of spades in my hand!"

Bobby's grin broadened. "Oops! I cheated!"

Lena burst out laughing as if that was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Her hand hadn't dropped from the back of her bra, and Britney realized the only reason she hadn't taken it off yet was that she was too drunk to work the clasps. Britney stepped over the kerosene lantern and reached a hand out to Lena. "Alright. You're fucking wasted. C'mon."

"Ooo!" now Lena waggled her eyebrows at Britney, smiling suggestively. "Where we goin'?"

"To the car."

"You wanna do it in the car?"

Britney scrunched up her face in disgust. "What? Gross, Lena, no! We're going to the car and we're going to sleep off this blitz!"

Bobby's face fell. "No way! We're just starting to have fun!"

"Yeah!" Lena was still fumbling with the clasp of her bra. "We're juss startin' to have fun!"

Bobby reached over to the box of booze at his side. Only what he pulled out now, wasn't a bottle of beer. It was a bottle of Johnny Walker. He unscrewed the top. "You can go to the car, ya fuckin' prude. Lena and I are staying right here." He took a swig of the whiskey. "Aren't we?"

"Hell yeah!" Lena grinned, before her face morphed to a look of deep concentration as she worked the bra. Finally she huffed. "Fuck it!" She lowered her bra straps and began shimmying the whole undergarment down her torso.

Bobby's eyes instantly locked on Lena as she removed the little clothing she had left. Britney rolled her eyes. "I am so not staying for this. I'm going to the car." She glanced around the floor of the tent. "Where the hell's my coat… and my pants?"

Bobby's eyes remained on Lena who'd finally wrestled her bra off and was now wiggling out of her panties. "I threw 'em outside."

"You what?"

"Threw 'em outside." He glanced up at her just for a moment, winking. "In the rain. In a big ol' mud puddle. While you weren't looking. Didn't wanna risk you covering up those fine ass legs of yours. You could be so hot, Britney, if you'd just unwind and pull that stick out of your ass."

"Yeah!" Lena, who was now completely naked, save for her stockings, chimed in. She awkwardly crawled over to Bobby before sidling onto his lap. She glanced back at Britney. "Yer fuckin', hot Britney! Take it off! Wooooo!"

Britney sighed deeply. The whole reason she'd come up here was to help Lena avoid the situation she'd gotten herself into right now. And she'd failed. Well, fuck it. Even if she screwed up, she didn't have to watch it. She didn't care if she was half naked. She was going to sleep in the car. She'd be there to comfort the hungover and probably sobbingly remorseful Lena in the morning. She unzipped the tent and stumbled out into the downpour.

Bobby rolled his eyes as he watched her go. "Ah, fuck her."

Lena playfully nibbled at his ear lobe. She spoke in her sultriest voice. "Fuck _you_…"

Bobby looked back at her, sliding his hands around her waist. "Don't mind if I do!"

Britney trudged through the pouring rain, her bare feet squelching in the mud as she stomped toward the car. She was barely aware of the rain however.

She was just so angry! That fucking pervert, Bobby! He'd lured them up here for sex, just like Britney had known he had. He'd obviously been trying to get with the both of them, but had settled for just Lena, when Britney had proven so resistant. God, she just couldn't see what Lena saw in him! He was such a creep and a pervert! Why did her best friend have to be so stupid?

Of course, the booze hadn't helped. Lena got pretty indiscriminately, shall we say, wound up, when it came to alcohol. Tonight hadn't been the first time Lena had drunkenly made a pass at Britney, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Bobby probably knew that too, anyone who'd ever been to the same parties as Lena knew that she threw herself at everything that moved when you got a little alcohol in her.

Britney reached the station wagon, and yanked open the back door, climbing into the back, and pulling the door shut behind her. She paused, before hitting the automatic lock button on the car's back door, locking all the doors at once with a simultaneous click. She didn't want to risk Bobby sneaking up on her while she slept tonight. She glanced around, trying to locate the duffle bag she'd brought her clothes in, to try to find something dry to change into… when she suddenly closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Mother fucker. The bag was _back_ in the tent.

She growled and punched the window in aggravation. Well, fuck it! She wasn't going back to that tent! Fumbling around beneath the seat in front of her, she managed to find the emergency roadside kit that she was sure Bobby's parents must've given him. Certainly Bobby wouldn't have had such foresight. Opening the kit, she found exactly what she was looking for: a folded wool blanket. She pulled the blanket out, wrapped it around herself, and collapsed against the floor of the car, sighing. She'd sleep off this buzz, and then in the morning, she was making Bobby take both she and Lena back to Apple Creek. Three day weekend be damned!

As she drifted off, Britney was comforted by the simple fact that at least this weekend couldn't possibly get any worse.

Britney, however, was completely unaware of the hulking figure watching her from the shadows of the tree line at the edge of the clearing in which she and her friends had made camp.

Jason Voorhees stared, emotionlessly, blankly, the rain drizzling down his grimy, hockey mask, as he saw the half naked girl stomp her way from the tent to the vehicle. In his right hand he held his machete. The weapon was old and rusted now, but still lethally sharp. Jason had retrieved it from his shack when his mother had informed him there was more work to do, after he'd killed that police man.

And now, he'd found the work that needed to be done.

(_They must be punished, my boy! They were warned not to come out here and they've disobeyed! Now they must pay!_)

Jason knew mother was right. He stepped out of the clearing and took a step toward the car he'd just seen the girl enter… when he heard a sound that froze him in his tracks.

It was a loud, high pitched, and rapturous female moan. It was coming from the tent that the half naked girl had just stomped out of.

Jason's one good eye narrowed. He knew what that sound meant. He tightened his grip on the machete.

(_Them first!_) His mother was practically shrieking in his head. (_In the tent! They must die first!_)

Jason slowly turned his attention away from the car and toward the tent. It was glowing with a soft, flickering, yellow light from within. Jason could vaguely make out the silhouettes of two intertwined people. A boy and a girl.

He stepped toward the tent.

* * *

Mitch had been walking for a good thirty minutes before he finally stumbled across the small, ramshackle, lean-to in the middle of the woods.

He'd left Cindy at the Forest Green campgrounds, travelling on what he'd thought was a path. And maybe it had been at one time, but since it obviously hadn't been kept up in years, it soon gave way and disappeared into the overgrown forest entirely. Mitch had found himself just wandering through the trees now, with no landmarks at all to follow, hoping he'd find a house. If he didn't he was kind of screwed, at least until morning. He was deep within the woods now, and was pretty positive he wouldn't be able to find his way back to the camp without at least the sunlight to help guide him. With the clouds overcast in the sky above, and not even the moonlight to see by, Mitch had finally been forced to remove his sunglasses, which he'd placed atop his ball cap. He practically had to feel his way through the trees now.

Mitch had been thinking about, for the umpteenth time, just how hard he was going to punch Kyle Stark in the face when they got back to Athens, Ohio, when he noticed a soft, flickering light, glowing among the trees some distance off. He'd followed it until he arrived in the small clearing where the shack rested. The glowing was coming from behind a dirty, white sheet that seemed to serve as a makeshift curtain for the shack's solitary, glassless window.

The shack itself looked like it'd been cobbled together from every type of building scrap imaginable. The slanted roof was made of corrugated steel. The walls of the shack were made of wood, and drywall, and metal sheets, all mish-mashed together like some kind of carpentry patchwork. The door itself didn't seem to be much more than a thin, tin sheet on hinges.

Mitch slowly made his way to the shack's tin door, and was about to knock when he paused, his knuckles inches from the tin. This shack obviously belongs to some crazy mountain man or something, a little voice in the back of his head said. What're the odds this guy's even going to have a phone?

On the other hand, reasoned a less cynical voice. Even if he _doesn't_ have a phone, he's bound to know this area. Maybe he could point you in the direction of someone who _would_ have a phone?

Mitch nodded to himself. Either way, it couldn't hurt. And it was better than blindly stumbling around the woods with his hands stretched out in front of him like fucking Frankenstein or something.

He knocked on the tin door.

Silence was the only response. He waited several seconds before knocking again.

Still nothing.

Without really knowing why, Mitch slowly reached out and pulled on the edge of the door. It swung open with a loud creak. Mitch stuck his head inside.

"Hello?" It was dark inside the shack, and Mitch's eyes were having trouble adjusting to it. He could hear the rain, which had finally started to slow to a drizzle, pattering on the steel roof above his head. He could see a faint light, spilling out from a doorway on the far side of the shack to the left of the door. The doorway was mostly blocked with what looked like a torn, red blanket, but Mitch could see the light flickering through the space between the bottom of the blanket and the floor.

Mitch's curiosity immediately welled up. There was something very odd about this place. He slowly stepped inside, his feet crunching on something. The shack's floor had no foundation and was made of dirt, which had mostly been turned to mud by the rain. Little stiff white objects were sticking out of the mud and as Mitch bent down to get a closer look, he suddenly realized they were bones. Lots and lots of tiny animal bones, some picked clean and bleached white, some still gristly and covered with bits of bloody meat. He stood, shuddering a bit as he glanced around the inside of the shack and took in the surroundings.

Immediately across from the entrance was what looked like a makeshift bathroom stall, with no door, made up of two hastily thrown together slats of drywall. A disgusting, filthy toilet sat inside, encrusted with some kind of brownish, dark material that Mitch didn't really want to think about. He doubted the shack had any indoor plumbing, so he didn't dare look past the toilet's lid. The whole thing looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.

Just to the door's left sat an old, wooden cot with a rotting, olive green canopy. It looked like it hadn't been used in ages either.

And then there was the room beyond the red curtain, with the flickering light. Mitch didn't know why he was doing what he was doing, why he was poking around this weird, creepy shack, but something was drawing him toward that room. It was more than just curiosity. He just couldn't place his finger on it. But he had to see what was in there.

Slowly, stepping carefully so as to avoid tramping on as many of the bones that littered the floor as possible, Mitch made his way across the room and to the red curtained door. He reached up and pushed the curtain aside.

It took a long moment for his brain to finally register and react to what it was seeing.

The room was small and dark. At the far end away from the door, a rickety, circular wooden table was set up. Draped over the table was a ratty and rotten, thick, sky blue old sweater. Surrounding the sweater were several ancient, half melted old candles, all of which were lit, accounting for the flickering light Mitch had originally seen that attracted him to the shack in the first place. The wax from these candles had dripped everywhere, mixing in with the fabric of the musty sweater and dripping over the table, hanging over the side like long, wax stalactites.

But all of this was secondary to the objects Mitch saw placed atop the sweater.

One of the objects was what looked like an old, worn out leather glove. Four long, rusty, looking razors jutted from the finger tips of the glove like bladed finger nails.

Sitting to the left of the glove was a severed head. It was ancient, decrepit, almost mummified looking. Its skin was brown and shriveled, it's eyelids closed and caved in. Its lips had tightened so badly that they were permanently peeled back, revealing the heads ghastly, rotting yellow teeth. It was impossible to tell if the head was male or female but it had long wisps of thin white hair protruding from the top. This head sat inside the collar of the sweater, as if it was meant to be wearing it.

The _other_ severed head was even worse. It sat to the right of the first head, settled just behind the razor glove. It didn't look as badly decayed as the first severed head, but its skin was disfigured nonetheless. It was bald, with a hooked nose, and covered in what looked like hideous third degree burn scars. It looked decidedly more male than the head next to it. Its eyes were closed, its mouth gaping open, exposing its jagged, rotten teeth.

Mitch knew he should run. He was in a bad place, he could feel it. The air felt rotten in here, musty and evil. It smelled strongly of the rotten egg odor of sulfur. And it was hot; much hotter than the candles should've made it.

But he couldn't. He couldn't leave; he couldn't look away from the bizarre shrine he'd discovered. Something was drawing him to it, calling him. He could almost hear it in his head. He stepped closer to the shrine, bending forward slightly, trying to get a closer look at the heads. Were they even real? They were so badly disfigured it was hard to tell. He began slowly reaching toward the head on the right, the burned head, just to see if it was real or made of rubber, or…

The burned head's eyes suddenly snapped open. Cold and blue, they fixed directly on Mitch's eyes. The head smiled.

"Ah, ah, ah!" it cackled, its voice deep and gravelly. "No touchy!"

The bladed glove it sat behind suddenly flicked open, the blades lifting toward Mitch.

Suddenly the trance was broken. Mitch screamed, stumbling backward, tripping over something and falling hard to the ground, landing on his back. Quickly he sat up, scurrying to his feet. A blood encrusted axe laid on the ground directly in front of him. He hadn't seen it when he first entered the room. That was what he'd tripped over. His eyes widening, he quickly looked back up at the shrine.

Both heads were as they had been. The burned head's eyes were closed, its mouth gaping again. Dead. The glove before it lay undisturbed.

Mitch had had enough. This was fucked up! This whole place was fucked up! He didn't care that it was pitch black outside, he didn't care if it was raining and they couldn't call for help. He had to get back to the camp, back to Cindy. And then they were getting the fuck out of there!

He started for the door, then paused, bent down, and picked up the axe. Then, with a determined look on his face, he dashed out of the room, out of the shack, and back into the woods.

* * *

Lena slumped to the canvas floor of the tent, naked and sweating next to Bobby, gasping for air, her body still reeling from the sensations of pleasure she'd just been wracked with. Bobby, who was breathing just as heavily, his shaggy brown hair damp and sticking to his forehead, grinned, placing his hands behind his head as Lena rested her head against his chest.

"That," she breathed, "was awesome!"

"Fuck yeah, it was!" Bobby panted.

"You were awesome!"

"I know it." Bobby nodded. He stretched his arms above his head now, his back popping. "Told ya it'd feel better _without_ the condom."

Lena nuzzled his chest, before looking up at him. "So… whaddya wanna do now?"

Bobby shrugged, placing his hands back behind his head. He yawned. "Dunno. I'm pretty beat."

"Already? But we've only just started!"

"Just started? Babe, fifteen minutes is a workout!"

Lena's eyes narrowed. "Seriously?"

Bobby sighed rolling his eyes. "Oh, here we go, the whole 'it's not just about you' nag. Look, Lena, the colossus can only do so much before he's gotta rest!"

Lena giggled. "The colossus? I think that's being a bit gener-"

"Shhh!" Bobby suddenly sat up, staring at the tent's front flap. "Did you hear that?"

Lena furrowed her brow. "Hear what?"

Then she did hear it. A rustling just outside the tent. Like someone's feet brushing through the grass. Someone was out there.

A grin slowly crawled across Bobby's face. "I think someone's ready to join us for round two!"

Lena's eyes narrowed again. "Round two? I thought you said you were tired."

Bobby ignored her, crawling over to the tent's entrance and fumbling with the zipper before finally managing to rip it open.

Lena growled. "Oh, sure. One pop and you're ready for bed 'til you find out Britney's coming back." Lena reached over, grabbing her panties and yanking them back on, before finding her bra and slipping it back over her shoulders as well. She clasped the hooks behind her back with a lot more success than she'd had unhooking them earlier. This was a mood killer. "You fuckin' pig."

Bobby stuck his head outside the tent. "Helloooo bay-buh!"

Suddenly, Bobby collapsed onto his belly, with a wet "thwack!" sound, and lay still, his head still sticking outside beyond the tent flap. Lena burst out laughing. Bobby was so fucking drunk! Judging by the wet sound she'd just heard, she figured he'd just passed out face down in the mud.

"What's the matter? Colossus can't hold his booze?"

Bobby didn't respond. He just continued to lay there, still. Almost too still.

"Bobby?" Lena nudged him. "You look pretty stupid with your head out the tent, and your naked ass sticking up in the air."

Still nothing. Finally, Lena grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back into the tent.

"Hey, idiot, wake-" her voice caught in her throat.

Bobby's head was gone. His ragged stump of a neck was all that remained, the edges of the skin torn and stringy. Dark, gleaming meat was oozing out of the wound, blood spurting like water from a garden hose, pooling thickly on the canvas floor of the tent. Lena sat on her knees, her hands falling into her lap. She stared blankly as her mind, still hazy with alcohol, was reeling in its attempt to understand what it was seeing.

It looks like raw hamburger meat, she decided of the tissue spilling from the shredded stump where Bobby's head had once been. Funny. Bobby said he was going to make hamburgers tomorrow. Guess he won't be now.

Just then, from behind her, Lena heard a sharp ripping sound. Turning, she saw a long, rusty blade, covered in blood and chunks of meat, tearing through the back wall of the tent. A massive, gloved hand followed, gripping the torn edge of the canvas, and tearing the entire tent down the middle, as if it were made of tissue paper. Lena watched as the rip in the tent moved from the back, to the roof over where she still knelt. She felt the chill flutter of air as the tent collapsed in two piles on either side of her, exposing her almost naked body to the elements. She felt the first cold drops of rain spattering her bare back. It wasn't raining as hard as before.

And in the gleam of the kerosene lantern, which still stood in the center of what was left of the tent, she saw the owner of the blade.

He was enormous; he had to be close to seven feet tall. He wore heavy looking, ragged clothes; work pants, a sagging grey shirt, and what looked like a matted and filthy hunting coat. There was something wrong with his skin, every exposed inch of it a putrid, blackish blue color.

But the mask the man wore on his bald head was what really caught her attention; the stained, yellowish hockey mask, staring down soullessly at her.

At once, Lena knew who this was. Bobby's words from earlier came back to her.

_"If Jason's out there, he probably won't take too kindly to a buncha uppity high schoolers spending the night in his territory!"_

Jason. The legends were true.

Instantly, the haze of drunkenness vanished, replaced by a feeling of utterly sobering, abject fear.

_FUCKING RUN!_ her brain suddenly shrieked at her and Lena didn't need to be told twice. She shot to her feet, spun on her bare heel… and slipped on the growing puddle of Bobby's blood that soaked the canvas at her feet. She managed to right herself before falling, but not before feeling a grinding pain shoot through her right ankle. She cried out in pain. Shit, she'd turned it bad! She stumbled forward anyway, running as best she could on her now throbbing ankle.

Behind her, Jason simply watched for a moment, almost curiously, as she attempted to flee, before following her. He was taking his time, slowly stalking after her.

_Because he knows you have nowhere to go!_ Hobbling through the darkness, Lena felt tears stinging her eyes as this thought invaded her head. Suddenly, her eyes widened. The car! On the other side of the clearing, she could just make out the shape of Bobby's station wagon in the darkness. On their way to the camp, Bobby had asked Lena to fish a map out of the glove compartment and a key had fallen out. She'd placed it back in the compartment without mentioning it to Bobby. Maybe it was a spare key to the car! Maybe she could use it to escape!

Encouraged by this thought, Lena gritted her teeth and ran as hard as she could, ignoring the intense, agonizing spikes of pain that shot through her wounded ankle. Tears were now flowing down her face freely.

She was so close! Just a few yards from the car now! She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder. Jason was still in pursuit. His gait had become quicker, more aggressive, but it was still far from a run. Lena thought there'd be just enough distance for her to reach the car and get inside before he caught up to her.

She turned back to the car, pushing herself to run even harder. Finally, she reached the vehicle. Slamming herself against the driver's side door, panting heavily, she yanked on the door handle.

The door didn't budge. It was locked.

She rattled the door handle, screaming in frustration. She'd forgotten about Britney! Britney, who had left the tent to go sleep in the car. She must've locked the door! Lena ran around to the back of the station wagon, pounding on the rear window with her fist.

"BRITNEY, WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

Inside the car, Lena could see Britney stirring from beneath a blanket on the floor of the station wagon's rear compartment. She groggily sat up. Lena could hear her voice, muffled through the rear window, as she groggily muttered. "What the hell…?"

"Britney, we have to fucking go NOW! LET ME IN!"

Britney stared at her, completely uncomprehending, her mind obviously still addled from a mixture of alcohol and sleep. Lena was about to scream at her again when she noticed Britney's eyes suddenly snap wide open at something she saw behind Lena. Lena turned… just in time to see Jason, standing directly behind her, his machete held high above his head. Lena screamed and dove out of the way, just as Jason brought the weapon down hard. With a screeching thunk, the blade embedded itself in curve of the car's metal roof, just where it met the rear windshield. The impact was so forceful, that the rear windshield itself exploded into a million fragments, falling to the floor of the car. Britney just barely managed to jerk the wool blanket up over her head, avoiding the rain of glass. One of the larger pieces, a long, jagged shard, managed to imbed itself in Jason's forearm, blackish, rank blood oozing from the wound, as he wrenched his machete out of the car's roof. He gazed at the wound, giving almost an impression of fascination, when he suddenly heard Lena whimper. Quickly, his head snapped in her direction.

Lena had made her way to her feet and was stumbling toward the line of trees at the edge of the clearing. Jason started in her direction, before pausing a moment, and turning back to glare at Britney, who had just lowered the blanket once again, checking to make sure she hadn't imagined everything she'd just seen. The hateful look in Jason's good eye told her everything; he would be coming back for her once he was done with Lena. With that, he turned back in the direction the other girl had run and stalked after her.

* * *

Lena charged through the forest, haphazardly dodging trees as she ran, managing only to avoid slamming into any mostly by blind, sheer luck. Her bare feet were in agony as she ran, branches, pine cones, rocks, and other assorted objects on the ground snapping, crackling, and embedding themselves into her bare flesh as she went. Her right ankle was on fire, absolutely killing her. But the thought of the _other _thing that wanted to kill her, the giant thing with the machete, spurred her on. She didn't dare look back to see if Jason was still following her.

Her heart sank as she ran. She didn't know what made her feel worse. The fact that she'd basically lead Jason to Britney and left her best friend since the second grade to most likely be hacked to pieces by the madman, or the fact that she almost hoped that Jason _had_ stopped to kill Britney, in order to give Lena a chance to escape.

This was all Lena's fault. She was the one that insisted they come out here with Bobby, just because she wanted to try to get some action. That had been her primary goal, and she couldn't have given two shits at the time if Britney came or went.

Well, she got her action alright. And now Bobby and probably Britney were both dead. And Lena didn't think her chances of getting out of this forest alive were all that high right now either. For one thing she had absolutely no fucking idea where she was. She had just run. She thought she'd been running in the direction of the camp, but if she had, she'd clearly gone way off course. The camp had just been through the line of trees. She would've been there by now. Instead she was deep within the labyrinthine woods of Crystal Lake.

It was also deathly silent, and Lena couldn't hear anything but her own feet thumping on the ground as she went and her own heavy breathing and heart pounding in her ears. Finally, she glanced back over her shoulder to see if Jason had given up.

This turned out to be a mistake. The moment she looked away from where she was going, her wounded right ankle became entangled in a large, gnarled tree root that she didn't see jutting out of the ground. She crashed face down to the forest floor hard, and let out a violent shriek of pain as her ankle was twisted yet again, and she heard an audible snap. She lay on the ground for a moment sobbing; she was cold, naked, hurt, and terrified. Her ankle was sprained before, but now she was sure it was broken. She slowly rolled over on her back, and started to sit up, preparing to see just how much weight she could place on her ankle… when she was suddenly forced back to the ground by a massive boot on her chest.

Jason stood over her, pinning her under his foot, glaring down at her.

Lena tried to scream, but she couldn't take in any air. Jason's boot was crushing her chest, and she couldn't breathe. She could only watch in horror as Jason slowly lifted the machete high above his head. Suddenly, he brought it down with lightning speed…

And with a loud "thunk" it became caught in a thick tree branch just above Jason's head. Jason quickly looked up, and began shaking the machete, his movements quick, aggressive, and annoyed. The machete wouldn't budge. Trying to take advantage of the distraction, Lena grabbed Jason's ankle with both hands and tried to force the undead monster's foot off her chest.

Immediately when she touched him, Jason's head snapped back down in Lena's direction. He released the machete, leaving it wedged in the tree branch for the moment, and grabbed both of Lena's hands by the wrists. Then, with his foot still on her chest, he began pulling.

Lena shrieked. The pain was explosive and unbelievably intense. Lena could feel the muscle in her arms stretching painfully and unnaturally as Jason pulled. The joints between her upper arms and her shoulders began popping, loudly, and Lena could feel the bones slowly being torn from their sockets, tendon slowly stretching and ripping. Blood began rolling down Lena's shoulders as tiny little stress holes began appearing in her arms, slowly stretching, tearing wider and wider, until gleaming red muscle was exposed.

Then, with a hideous, wet, ripping sound, both of Lena's arms came off in Jason's hands.

Unbearable agony gripped every fiber of Lena's being as she lay, shrieking on the ground. Jason glanced back and forth between the two severed arms he held, before tossing the now useless limbs to the ground and looking down at Lena. The girl lay on her back, still held down by Jason's boot, shrieking and crying, two bloody, torn stumps of shredded red meat where her arms used to be. A great pool of blood was rapidly forming beneath her.

But Jason wasn't finished.

Taking his foot off her chest, he knelt down and grabbed Lena by the throat, lifting her up, and slamming her back hard against a nearby tree, knocking the wind out of her and causing her to gasp for air. Then something suddenly caught Jason's eye.

The large, jagged piece of glass from the car's shattered windshield was still imbedded in the arm he held Lena with.

With his free hand, Jason reached over, yanked the shard of glass out of his arm… and rammed it into Lena's open mouth and down her throat.

Lena let out a horrible, retching sound as the glass sliced its way down her throat as far as Jason could shove it. Jason released her and she fell to the ground, lying on her side, unable to get up. Blood welled up from Lena's obliterated throat, pouring out of her mouth and mixing with the blood pooling from her the wounds where her arms used to be. She hacked, gurgling and choking. Each attempt her gag reflex made to eject the glass from her throat simply tore through the tender tissue within worse and worse.

Lena's lungs began to burn and slowly, whether due to lack of oxygen or blood loss, her vision began to fade. With the last of her rational thought, Lena prayed to just let it all end soon.

Moments later, her torment was over for good.

* * *

Jason stared down at the armless girl as she struggled and gasped for breath amidst the shard of glass down her throat, and the gush of blood it had drawn forth. Eventually, the girl finally laid still.

_(Very good, my darling boy! But we're not finished yet! There's still more work to be done! There are more intruders to deal with!)_

Jason reached up and grabbed his machete, still imbedded in the tree branch above him, and with one last, powerful tug, finally managed to rip the blade from the wood.

Then, with one last glance down at his latest victim, he turned and began trudging back in the direction of Camp Crystal Lake.


End file.
